Grave Reservations by Cherie Priest
26.
Grady didn’t like the messages that had popped up on his phone while he’d been listening to Leda’s extemporaneous murder presentation. He dialed Lieutenant Carter, since she was the one he’d trusted with his oddball request.
She answered immediately. “We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem? Did your guys find Keyes?”
“No, they did not. He wasn’t in class, and he’s not at home, either. I’ve put out a BOLO on his car, but I don’t know how much good that’ll do us. Did you learn anything useful, or was this a wild-goose chase from the start?” she asked.
“Definitely not a wild-goose chase. Since last we spoke, I’ve learned that the guy changed his name. We’re looking for a Scott Abbot Keyes. He dropped the Scott, so nobody noticed that he used to work for a company called Probable Outcomes.”
“Okay, why is that important?”
“Because he’s made a habit of stealing money, then killing to cover it up.” Grady went into a brief outline of what had happened to Tod and Amanda. “I realize it’s circumstantial—but a mountain of circumstantial evidence has to amount to something eventually, right?”
“You know better than that, Detective. Your psychic consultant is rubbing off on you.”
He stayed silent for a beat. Then he asked, “Who told you?”
“I thought she looked familiar, so I looked her up and realized I’d seen her on those flyers around the hill. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I do hope you’re not using up our scant police resources on a psychic travel agent.” Then she clarified, “In her capacity as either a psychic, or a travel agent. I’m sure she’s lovely, but we have protocols in place for a reason.”
“No, no. It’s not like that. She’s got a real gift, and I’m not saying that lightly. I would’ve never known about the connection between the murders without her; I haven’t paid her in anything but coffee. Actually, I owed her a check—out of my own pocket. She’s working for cheap, because she wants answers even more badly than I do. Her fiancé was one of the first victims.”
“Ah.” It was Carter’s turn to think about her response. “You understand, any defense attorney who finds out we’ve arrested a guy on the suggestion of a clairvoyant…”
“You don’t have to say it. I’m way ahead of you, and I’ve been very, very careful to keep her on the periphery—and make sure I can independently verify anything she tells me. I’m not conducting a case based on hunches or crystal balls.”
“That’s good to hear, but you and I both know you brought that woman to an active crime scene. At least twice.”
So she knew about their visit to the Beckmeyers’ residence, too. Grady cleared his throat. “I couldn’t very well bring her into the station to talk to Richard or Sheila, now could I?”
“Grady.”
He sighed. “I know, I know. But she’s not going to compromise anything—I won’t let her. Anyway, right now I’m more worried about Keyes coming after her or her friend, the forensic accountant.”
“What? You hired a forensic accountant, or you got the state to send somebody in?”
“Not a real one. It’s a long story. But the guy thinks we have more dirt on him than we do, and he’s running around town, trying to clean up any loose ends.”
“You’re afraid the psychic is a loose end?” Carter asked.
“She’s the only one left, unless he thinks our fake accountant knows something. There’s always the chance he might go after her, too.”
“Does the fake accountant know anything that can incriminate this guy?”
“Of course not. She’s a bartender who works at Smith Tower. It was just a story I used on the fly.” Rather than explain any further, he added, “We need to get him in for questioning. He’s going to keep hurting people until we do. Listen, I can come down there and—”
“Detective, I promise. We’re working on it. If this guy turns up—you’ll be the first to know.”
His eyes swept the swiftly filling room. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I’m here with the psychic and the bartender both, and I’m not saying they’re sitting ducks, but you can see it from here.”
The lieutenant said, “Maybe you should stay put.”
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna.” With that, he thanked her and let her go. He tucked his phone into his pocket.
Tiffany saw him put the phone away and made him an offer. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thanks, I don’t need the booze.”
“Are you sure? You’re wound up pretty tight tonight. I’m surprised you’re not more excited about this whole thing! Leda solved a murder, dude!”
“We don’t know that for a fact just yet.”
“Oh, come on.” She set a highball glass full of ice in front of him and pulled out her soda gun. As she filled the glass with Coke, she told him, “You can just admit that it was amazing. Have you caught the guy?”
“No, we’re still looking for him. I’m sure we’ll have him soon.”
“You don’t sound very sure of that.”
“I don’t?”
She slipped him a coaster and a straw. Then she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “No, you don’t. Is something wrong? You can tell me. You can tell bartenders anything. We’re like priests.”
He grunted a laugh. “Nothing’s wrong,” he fibbed. “I’m just impatient.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Oh, come on.”
She found a maraschino cherry, reached across the bar, and dropped it into his glass. “What’s really eating you?” She leaned forward on her elbows and gave him her widest-eyed look of Talk to me earnestness.
He surrendered and took the beverage, leaning against the bar while he considered sipping it—but kept forgetting to. “Keyes should’ve been in class, and he wasn’t. The guy’s a flake, and we knew that much already, but he seemed to really be trying to pull himself together. Even if he’s given up on getting his life in gear, he wasn’t at home, his car’s in the wind, and there’s no telling where he’s gone or what he’s up to.”
“You think he’s up to shenanigans?”
“I’m confident of it. And here’s the thing, right? He’s exactly the sort of guy who blends into the background. Average-looking fellow, on the short and thin side, but ordinary-looking enough. He changed his name a little bit and virtually disappeared. That’s all it took, just like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“You think he’ll vanish again?”
“Well, he already suspects that we’re on to him. Jesus, the forensic accountant thing.” Before Tiffany could ask, he said, “It was just a joke. I was talking with Leda and Niki about what to say, and they were making up cover stories… and somebody suggested we call Niki a forensic accountant, since that sounds official and police-related. So when we all sat down, that’s how I introduced her. It was a quick, stupid lie. Completely off-the-cuff. But it’s the thing that spooked him. It’s the thing that sent him running to the Beckmeyers’ place, and then to Janette.”
Grady and Tiffany might have talked more, but the doors were open, and people were pouring in, and Grady no longer had an official bartender/priest dedicated to his own personal problems. He took his Coke, saluted her with it, and retreated from the bar.
Grady held his phone down on his palm faceup, so he could stare at it—willing it to produce good news. As if he, too, were developing mental powers, a text alert from Lieutenant Carter appeared.
He seized the phone.
Found suspect’s car. Officers on the scene saw items from Janette Copeland’s office in the back seat. Getting a warrant for his apartment.
Immediately, he texted back. No sign of him? Where’s the car?
No, but the car will be headed for impound. Found it near Pike and 12th.
His stomach sank. He knew it. The son of a bitch was headed here.
He picked up a flyer that had fallen to the floor. It was bright pink with a picture of Leda behind the microphone along with showtimes, some silly advertising copy with too many exclamation points, and the address for Castaways—no more than four blocks away from the corner of Pike and Twelfth.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
He scanned the room. He spotted Niki first and pushed through the crowd to reach her, ducking around the tables and chairs and squeezing in behind the table full of sound equipment at the base of the stage, where Niki and Matt were getting ready for the show to come.
“Hey, have you seen Leda?”
Niki and Matt looked at each other. Niki said, “No, but Ben said something about her going to get the costumes out of her car. She said she’d had trouble finding a spot to park, and there was no place free out back. She might’ve settled for one of the pay lots.”
“Any idea which one?” Grady asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
“Not a clue. She’ll be back soon, man,” Matt said with a reassuring smile.
Niki asked, “Why? Is something wrong?”
Grady looked over his shoulder, trying to catalog the whole room and everyone in it—but it was too dark, too crowded, with too much motion. “Niki, you remember what Mr. Murder looks like, right?”
“Sure. Why do you—Oh my God.”
“No, no. Stay cool,” he said. “But keep your eyes open.” Then he tapped his phone in his pocket to make sure he still had it. His gun and badge were back in his car.
Just before he dipped back into the crowd, he said, “Don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything, and don’t say anything to freak anybody out. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t know if he meant it.